And the Walls Came Tumbling Down
by Joella
Summary: Missing scene from Playthings. What dark thoughts cause Sam to act out of character? Rated M for the dead solicitor lawyer.


**And the Walls Came Tumbling Down**

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the world of Supernatural and the only thing I earned is the satisfaction from writing this story and the reviews of readers.

A/N: This is my interpretation of a missing scene from _Playthings _so there are spoilers for this episode from Season 2. I do include the dialogue since it came between what I wanted to say. Hope you don't mind.

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Sam shoved himself away from the laptop. His job had been searching online for any other suspicious deaths at the Pierpoint Inn. So far, he'd found none but he'd only gone as far back as thirty years. Dean had left over an hour ago. He'd heard the Impala rumble off so Sam guessed he had headed back to town to search at the local library. His self-appointed task was to find out all he could about Susan's mother, Rose. 

Reaching for the keyboard again, Sam heard a piercing shriek. Bolting out of his chair, he dashed into the hall only to collide with a maid. He held her upright until she found her footing. She was babbling something about a man and pointing to a room behind her. Sam released her; she scurried off towards the staircase calling for help. Turning towards the room, Sam slid his rangy form through the doorway. A shadow moved on the floor and he looked up to see a man suspended from the ceiling fan. He had hung himself. Face purple with congealed blood, the man's swollen tongue peeped from between his lips. Sam sagged against the doorway. Why hadn't he had a vision about this guy dying? Or why hadn't he at least gotten his freaky vibes about it? He had been no more than 30 feet away for the past hour. Footsteps thudded up the stairs and down the hallway to halt behind him. Susan's breath hitched as she saw what the maid had been screaming about. Hand covering her mouth, she looked up at her guest beside her. Why did this keep happening? Her next thought was for Tyler. She needed to keep her daughter away from this horrible sight. She'd already seen too much. Sam gazed into eyes hollow with shock. He saw no recrimination in them but a voice in the back of his head told him he should have done something. This was his job for goodness sake, protecting people from evil things.

Susan went down the stairs to call the police and the coroner to the motel, again. Sam headed back to his room to get the EMF meter to check the victim's room out before the police showed up. The cobbled-together machine gave a fitful reading, nothing specific enough to point to a ghost rather than hoodoo. The brothers still did not have a clue to what they were dealing with. He pulled his phone out to call Dean but closed it after a second. There was no reason for Dean to come back immediately; they couldn't do anything until the cops left.

Twice, no three times in a row, they had failed during a job. They never learned what had caused the demon virus to go away although Sam had his suspicions, Ava was missing or dead or _changed_, and now this guy, right down the hall from Sam, had killed himself in an inn they were investigating. After Dean's confession about his role in Sam's destiny, Sam had tried to figure out ways to keep himself from turning evil. The ranks of the demon's army would not include him. Dean would make sure, _had to make sure_, that it never happened if it came to that. Gordon's words about being just like the filth he hunted had made him feel so dirty, he'd scrubbed his body practically raw that night trying to remove some unseen stain. A hollow pit had grown inside that nothing seemed to fill. Dean was still beside him, would do everything he could to protect him, but could he really help Sam fight this destiny? Despair darkened Sam's sight, and he just needed to feel something, anything other than that darkness. His glance roved around the room and stopped at the little fridge.

The fridge had a wide choice. He'd never been one to drink much; he hated losing control. There had been a few times, not many, when John Winchester had used alcohol to drown his memories. Sometimes he'd raged, sometimes he'd sobbed. Dean had always made sure they stayed in their room to give John solitude with his memories. Sam could count the number of times he himself had been drunk on one hand. Now sure seemed like a good time to add to that number. He knew it wasn't smart, but right now it was the only thing he could think of. Pulling the bottles out, he arranged them in order of preference. He figured after the first few, he really wouldn't care what the others tasted like.

Sam watched them take the body down the front steps and let the curtain fall back into place. His head was swimming from more than self-hate now. He could still taste the Jagermeister that had been in that last bottle. Sinking into the armchair, he could feel the draft coming in the open door. He vaguely remembered leaving the key in the door for Dean to find. He didn't think he'd be standing again any time soon. Dean. He was going to be furious. Maybe he'd even leave him. They all left him, one way or the other. His thoughts spiraled downward.

ooooOOOOoooo

Flashing blue and red lights had shown Dean where the inn was from a few hundred yards away. Parking his car, he joined Susan on the steps and watched a body being placed into a waiting vehicle. He got a bit of information from her but knew Sam would have all they needed. After bidding her goodnight, Dean headed up the stairs. The door to their room was open with the key still in the lock. What the heck? Removing the key, Dean closed the door. Sam had his back to the door; it was unlike him to be that casual and unwary, especially during a hunt.

Dean strode past Sam, upset. "There's been another one; some guy just hung himself in his room."

"Yeah, I saw," Sam muttered.

"We gotta figure this out, and fast," Dean said as he unzipped his bag. "What did you find out about Granny?" He was digging for his EMF reader. Where was the damn thing?

"You're bossy," Sam spat out.

Dean turned and looked at him confused. "What?"

Sam lifted both arms for emphasis. "You're bossy." He laughed. "And short."

"Are you drunk?" asked Dean surpised. This was not like Sam.

"Yeah. So?" Sam became belligerent. Dean scanned the room and spotted many tiny bottles now empty of alcohol. "Stupid," came from the chair behind him and he tightened his lips.

"Dude, what are you thinking? We're working a case," Dean tried to reign in his anger.

"That guy who hung himself. I couldn't save him," Sam eyes glistened with unshed tears. He was no longer angry; he was scared.

"What're you talking about? You didn't know, you couldn't have done anything," Dean was beginning to realize that his brother was upset about more than the inn's latest victim.

"That's an excuse, Dean. I should've found a way to save him. I should've saved Ava, too." Sam's voice condemned himself.

"Well you can't save everyone, even you said that."

Sam slammed his left hand into the table at his side, making Dean pause. "No, Dean, you don't understand, all right? The more people I save, the more I can change."

"Change what?" asked Dean confused.

"My destiny. Dean!" retorted Sam. He was pleading now. He needed to believe that he could avoid this terrible fate. That actions, his actions, could change fate. His fate.

"All right, time for bed. Come on, Sasquatch," sighed Dean as he bent over his brother and hauled Sam to his feet.

"I need you to watch out for me."

"Yeah, I always do," said Dean trying to guide his brother to his bed.

Sam was having none of it. "No, no no. You have to watch _out_ for me. All right? And if I ever turn into something that I'm not… you have to kill me."

"Sam…" Dean turned away not wanting to meet his brother's eyes and acknowledge his words.

Sam shoved his brother's arms away and backed up. "Dean, Dad told you to do it, you have to." Sam was depending on his brother's obedience to their father's orders.

"Yeah, well Dad's an ass," declared Dean. "He never should've said anything. I mean you don't do that, you don't …don't lay that kinda crap on your kids!" Since learning that John had sacrificed himself for him, Dean had been torn between guilt about being alive and anger that John had left Dean to save Sam. Alone.

"No, he was right to say it!" shouted Sam. "Who knows what I might become! Even now, everyone around me dies." He was pleading with his brother now.

The lost look in Sam's eyes tore at Dean. "Well I'm not dying. And neither are you, now come on. Sit down." Dean grabbed Sam's shirt to ease him down onto his bed. Watching Sammy hurting like this was killing him.

"No, please, Dean, you're the only one who can do it," pleaded Sam, holding on to Dean's jacket so he couldn't draw away. "Promise?"

"Don't ask that of me," Dean begged. How could Sam place this burden on him?

"Dean, please. You have to promise me."

Dean looked into his brother's terrified eyes. Sam was begging for Dean's help. He needed to know that Dean would help him, save him. Dean couldn't deny his brother. At least not now. "I promise," his voice cracked along with his heart, wishing with all he had that Sam would not remember this conversation, that he would never have to make good on that promise.

"Thanks," hissed Sam. "Thank you." He grasped Dean's face only to be pushed away and forced to lie down on the bed. He rolled over and buried his face into the pillow.

Dean sank onto the other bed. His promise to their father had been an unbearable weight that he thought would destroy him. He'd held silent for as long as he could. Sam knew how much he hated having that weight, and Dean thought he'd understood but now this…Sam's plea mirrored John's command. Dean wished that there was someone else he could talk to. Sam was upset, understandably so. After Jessica's death, he'd avoided getting drunk. That he had chosen to get drunk now worried Dean. He had thought that Sam was dealing with this destiny crap. He was wrong. It was clear that Sam was close to cracking. They both were. Dean watched his brother's back slowly rise and fall. He unconsciously matched his breathing with his brother's. Family. It was the only glue they had. It had to be enough. No. Dean affirmed to himself, it _would_ be enough. He would save them both.

_A/N - Please let me know what you thought about my version of what might have happened to cause Sam to get drunk on a job.._


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